


Connected

by ShadowThorne



Category: Bleach
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, Reincarnation, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-04 02:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12761613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowThorne/pseuds/ShadowThorne
Summary: Left distraught and broken, he became a devourer of man and destroyer of homes, and thus was cursed. But a vow that spans centuries isn't easily broken. Generations later, relief finally comes. Ichi/Hichi. Oneshot.





	Connected

**Author's Note:**

> If you follow my tumblr, you might remember this. A while back, I posted the beginnings of it, thinking I wouldn't do anything with the drabble, but surprise! I did. Just a short oneshot.
> 
> Enjoy.

Little trinkets hung from hooks and sat upon dusty shelves; a room full of antiques and oddities and things he’d never seen before. Some sparkled in the filtered light that seeped through old curtains, some seemed lightless entirely. Incense hung heavy in the air, the smell heady and sweet, yet spicy almost. Had he believed in magic, Ichigo thought to himself, this surely would have been a place where power could have been found.

The door had chimed as he’d entered, yet no one had come to greet him and he was left to his own devices as he wandered down an isle at random. The building was old and the floorboards creaked when he stepped just right, but the heavy, wooden shelves around him were sturdy and no shudder rippled through them.

As he wandered, Ichigo occasionally paused to pick something up, studied it, and ultimately put it back; jars of perfumed liquid, vases, a mirror. There was nothing in particular he searched for, or even had in mind. This shop had sat here for as long as he could remember, yet he’d never before felt so inclined to visit. But on this particular evening, as he’d walked home in leisure and enjoyed the sun of a warm, cloudless day, his path had brought him past the stretch of old cobble that lead up to the front door and instead of simply continuing down the sidewalk as he’d unthinkingly intended, Ichigo had stopped, growing curious.

He’d heard all kinds of things about the little oddities shop while growing up. The most common and accepted rumor was that it was haunted and that the owner of said shop was crazy. Of course Ichigo was too old to believe in such things any longer, but now that he stepped foot within, he could easily see where all the rumors had stemmed from. There was a lingering feel about the place, like old memories crowded round.

His aimless search brought him all the way through the shop, almost beelining for the back wall, though he didn’t realize it. He waded through the shelving, streaking a finger through the fine layer of dust, and ended up standing before a large, covered object. It was rectangular in shape, like a box of sorts. A thin, white sheet of silk had been thrown over it, keeping all but its shape and size obscured. Large enough that a person could have nearly curled up within, a bit of a curious frown tugged at Ichigo’s brows. His fingers itched for the cloth and he hesitated, before finally reaching out to just barely feel the smoothness of it below his fingertips.

As he did, a voice finally spoke up, and movement caught Ichigo’s attention from over one shoulder.

“Have you ever kept snakes before, friend?” 

Ichigo jerked his hand back, jumping as he turned around. He was gifted with amused, knowing grey eyes framed by ragged blond hair. There was the wisdom of age in the shopkeep’s features, but he couldn’t have been but ten years Ichigo’s senior, fifteen at most. There was a surprisingly patient smile on the man’s features as Ichigo finally recovered.

“Uh, no.” He said, turning -much more calmly this time- back to the silk sheet. “Is that what you keep in here? Snakes?”

“Just one.” The shopkeep said, stepping around his guest, “I’m not sure he’s quite what you’re looking for though, if you have no experience with snakes.”

“Why? Is he mean?”

“Not overly so, but he can be… Hmm…” The blond trailed off, a thoughtful, almost pensive expression crossing his features, followed by another knowing grin. With a swift motion, he pulled away the sheet, “a bit temperamental.”

What Ichigo had previously thought to be a box of some kind turned out to be a large, glass cage with ornate, gold framing. Like most of the things in the shop, it looked old, ancient even. The glass, while being well kept and polished, was pocked here and there with old gouges and warped as a result from the old ways of making glass, like the way an old window seems to distort parts of the scenery beyond. The cage sat on carved lion’s feet, claws curved to grip around spheres. The lid, like the pedestal and framing, looked made of gold as well. Dozens of small holes had been punched into it, the edges sanded smooth.

Within, steam fogged up one side of the cage, making it impossible to see more than the greenery of small vines. They looked real, which surprised Ichigo, since he was used to seeing fake plants in the cages at pet stores. Strewn across the rich, dark soil that covered the bottom, gold jewelry had been laid out, rather than rocks or branches. It too was old, like it came from some ancient, long dead civilization. The gold and jewels looked real too. Overall, the enclosure looked more like something one would see in a zoo, rather than in a shop filled with miscellaneous junk.

And coiled in one corner, a large, white snake stared back at him with eyes as gold as the framing of its cage. The unblinking stare was cold and hard, even for a reptile. It puffed up unhappily, making itself look even larger than it already was, as it coiled tighter amongst the folds of itself. It simply sat there, and after a silent, heavy moment, a brilliant blue tongue flicked from the animal’s mouth. 

A small smile twitched across the corner’s of Ichigo’s lips. At his side, he missed the slight widening of grey eyes as the shopkeep looked from the snake, to his guest, and back.

Very slowly, the snake began uncoiling itself, making its way across the floor of its cage and closer to the glass that separated it from the people staring at it. There was grace and dignity to the way it slithered, blue tongue flickering every now and then. When it made it to the glass Ichigo looked through, it seemed to glance over at the shopkeeper, before lifting its head and raising the top half of its long body, as if it could climb up the side of the glass. Of course it couldn’t, but the snake was long and strong enough that, had the lid not been there to stop it, it would have easily found its way over the glass and freed.

As it was, the lid stopped its upward course and it bumped against it, before pausing as if it waited for the lid to be lifted.

The shopkeeper hummed an interested sound, and stepped forward again to lift the latches and slide back the lid. 

“Oh, no, you don’t have to-“ Ichigo started to protest getting the reptile out, but the snake was already slithering over the top edge of the cage, its strange, golden eyes never leaving his features. “…are snakes always like this?”

“No,” The shopkeeper smiled, raising a hand and producing a fan, which he used to hide his features as he studied the two. “He’s quite the character, this one.”

Holding a hand out to the animal, Ichigo tensed, half expecting to be bitten. But no teeth found his skin, only the soft flutter of the snake’s tongue as it sniffed him. “What’s his name?”

“I’ve taken to calling him Shiro lately. He doesn’t seem to mind too much.”

The snake hissed a low, short sound as if in protest and the shopkeeper chuckled. Hardly a moment later, as the snake began coiling itself around Ichigo’s extended arm and pulling itself further from its tank, a clock that hung on the wall behind the cage chimed a deep, reverberating sound. Glancing at it, Ichigo frowned when he realized it wasn’t the turn of an hour that caused the alarm. He chocked it up to a broken old clock, but wasn’t given time to put more thought than that into it.

The shopkeeper practically sprang into motion, “Ah! Time to close up,” He announced in a singsong voice, moving to take the snake. 

The white creature hissed another unhappy sound and all the thick muscle of its body tightened, gripping harshly around Ichigo’s arm. It lifted its head and neck into a classic S curve and glared the most vicious expression a snake could manage.

“Going to bite me now, are you?” The blond asked, digging fingers under a section of the snake’s tail to begin prying it free of the young man it seemed to have taken a liking to. Ichigo flinched as the animal struck so fast his eyes could hardly keep up. The shopkeep merely laughed, jerking back slightly as his free hand came up. He caught the animal behind its head, its maw opened wide and rows of sharp, recurved teeth bared in an angry grin. “You’re becoming predictable, friend.” The man told the snake as he finished pulling it free of Ichigo’s arm.

“I thought you said he wasn’t mean…” Taking a step away from the animal, Ichigo rubbed at his arm where all that muscle had contracted and watched the shopkeeper push the lid to the tank back a bit further, never releasing the angry snake and giving it a second chance to bite.

“He’s not, really, just temperamental.” The man repeated, grey eyes cornering to send a sly smile at his guest. He dropped the snake back into its cage and quickly closed the lid, latching it firmly, before throwing the sheet back over it. Then he turned back to his guest, “Feel free to visit him again tomorrow, during the day. Unfortunately I close at sundown and I must insist that I bid you a goodnight.”

“Sundown-“ Ichigo repeated, finding it a strange time to close. Most shops and stores closed at a particular hour, not entirely based upon when the sun sank below the horizon.

“Indeed, sundown.” The strange man confirmed, sweeping past Ichigo and motioning for the young man to follow him back toward the front of the shop. He smiled a sly little expression as he pushed open his front door and held it, “Shop opens at dawn, Mr. Kurosaki. Take care~”

Then Ichigo was out the door, half forced, and he heard the click of locks and latches, before he finally turned towards the darkening street to return home.

Within the shop, Urahara turned back towards his only living item that was for sale, and made his way to the large glass tank in the back of his shop at a relaxed pace. Grunts and angry, hissing snarls met him, muffled and dulled by thick glass. The entire tank shook under the sheet as something pounded heavily against one side and finally an angry, hissing voice screamed through the cage with enough volume to ring through the shop.

“Ya can’t keep me locked in here forever, warlock!” The voice was oddly pitched and distorted, each hard edge of sound punctuated with the sharp click of sharper teeth.

Urahara merely chuckled, lifting his fan. At his side, a sleek black shape jumped up to balance upon one of the shelves at near eye level. He glanced at the cat with a slight nod of greeting, “Worry not, dear Yoruichi, he’s contained still.”

“It’s not him I’m concerned about.” The cat intoned, tail held high and brilliant yellow eyes locked pointedly with the man’s grey ones. She walked the length of the shelf, before hopping back to the floor and, as she neared the glass cage, began shifting. Long, lean muscle reshaped and stretched. Silky black fur gave way to dark, smooth skin. In the place of a cat, a woman stepped up the tank and peeled back part of the white sheet. “You cut that meeting awfully close, Kisuke. If you had failed to return him in time…” She shook her head, and trained her attention upon the occupant of the cage.

She was greeted with the angry attention of golden eyes with slit pupils, and rather human features. Coils and coils of massive, white scale and muscle filled most of the cage’s free space, leaving the creature within very little room to maneuver. He had room to turn around, or roll from his front to his back, but any more space than that and he would have had the leverage to use his full strength, and the glass cage would never have held him, enchanted or not.

An angry white fist slammed against the inside of the tank as the creature bared teeth at the woman. A blue, forked tongue curled around fangs as black claws screeched across the glass. “My first day of freedom ‘ll be your last day of life.” The creature promised, his distorted, hissing voice low, “I’ll kill the both of ya and feast well.”

The warlock stepped up to his partner’s side and finally lowered his strange fan. The smile on his lips was less than amused, however. Sad, even. “No you wont, friend.” He said with a slight shake of his head, “The day we can free you will be a joyous day.”

“So ya say, yet you keep me locked in here all the same.” The coils of his snake half wound and slithered, constricting and contracting as the creature maneuvered within his prison. He rolled over, shifting until his shoulder blades were flat upon the warm, dark soil of the floor of his cage. Reaching up, he flattened his palms upon the cage’s gold top, grit his teeth, and pushed with all the strength he could manage in such tight confines, as he had done nearly every night since being captured.

“It was part of the deal.”

Gold eyes flickered toward the man, fire and hatred in their depths, “I made no such deal!” He practically screamed, “Release me!”

Urahara shook his head again and when an elegant hand gripped around his elbow, he turned from the cursed creature. Yoruichi tugged the sheet back down, and they left the naga to his misery for the night.

In the morning, the shopkeep would unlock his doors, go straight to the golden tank, and speak of apologies and promises the snake within wouldn’t remember with the onset of nightfall.

After having gone home and eventually to bed, Ichigo had made no plans to return to the strange little shop on the corner of the main drag in town. He got up that morning and went about his business as usual, but again, on his way home that afternoon, as he made his way down the sidewalk and should have continued straight to get home, he hesitated, then stopped altogether and turned to once more look down the little walkway toward the shop’s front door.

He hesitated there, staring at the entrance and the old, faded sign that said open. Never before had he been so drawn toward a snake of all things. Dogs, sure, even the occasional cat. He’d considered on occasion bringing a pet home, something warm and cuddly and lively, but never a reptile. Yet even as he wondered at his own draw to the creature, he found himself pushing the front door open again. The little bell chimed above his head as he stepped through.

This time, the owner of the place leaned against the counter, a sleek black cat cradled in his arms. Both looked over at him as he entered and Ichigo awkwardly stopped a few strides from the entrance. “Uh, hello again…” He greeted, mostly because he felt obligated to break the strange silence.

Just as before, the shopkeep was amiable and tipped his head in greeting, “Good afternoon, Mr. Kurosaki.” He half sang, scratching against the underside of the cat’s chin. The little animal tipped back its head and let bright yellow eyes slide shut in comfort. “I trust you remember the way. If you’ve questions or issues, just call.”

Ichigo let his gaze linger a moment longer, before he passed by the odd man and made his way down an isle toward the back of the shop. Just as the night before, a white sheet was pulled over the ornate tank. He peeled it back to reveal the large, white snake, coiled up in one corner and staring at him placidly.

Once he was passed and out of earshot, the cat blinked open vibrant yellow eyes to watch Ichigo wander down the isle and stop before the cage. “You sentence that young man to death.”

“Perhaps…” Urahara admitted, eyes trained on his guest’s back, “Or perhaps not.”

“You’re releasing a monster and killing an innocent person. Maybe a dozen, or more. How long do you think it will take us to recapture him when he breaks free? If we can recapture him. Might be that you’re sentencing innocents to death, and our old friend.”

“Might be.” The shopkeep agreed again, but there was an upward tilt to his lips. “But I think not. I think we’ve finally found him.”

Yellow, feline eyes narrowed and panned over, taking in the measure of the young man they spoke of where he stood at the end of the isle, working the latches from the enchanted box. Within, Shiro showed nothing but curiosity and interest.

Ichigo hesitated to reach into the cage, watching the way the white scales of the creature’s muscled body wrapped around the gold pieces in the tank as the snake slithered its way towards him, that blue tongue flickering. No sound came from the animal, not even from its movements.

Like the day prior, the animal came to him, scaling against the side of the glass until it could begin lifting itself over the rim. It’s cold, golden eyes seemed to pin to him, as if it saw nothing else. When he raised a hand out toward it, half paranoid the creature would just keep going right over the edge if he didn’t give it something else to slither over, the snake again began to wind up his arm. When it got too close to his face, Ichigo nudged the end of its nose in a different direction and the snake seemed content to be guided away. It amazed him how relaxed the animal was, and how powerful the grip on his arm was.

As the snake began coiling tighter, to the point where it was becoming uncomfortable, Ichigo frowned and pushed his fingers below the smooth scales of the snake’s midsection. It ignored his efforts entirely, happy enough to explore and use Ichigo as a post for climbing.

From down the isle, Urahara and Yoruichi watched the two interact. It didn’t seem like much, but they knew better. There were only so many ways for a snake to express itself and while Ichigo didn’t seem to realize the snake’s efforts, the warlock and his shape shifting friend took note of the cursed naga’s interests. His blue tongue had yet to quit flickering, scenting the air around him and taking in the taste of the human holding him. There was no annoyed puffing and hissing, or paranoid flinching, even when fingers brushed across his head or under his chin.

Still in her feline shape, Yoruichi slipped from the warlock’s grasp to stand at attention on the counter he leaned against, ears forward and tail held high. She hummed a contemplative sound, still watching. Then, “It’s almost sundown.”

Urahara nodded, “It is.” but he didn’t push away from his post. When the clock struck at the end of its daily countdown, the snake would follow suit. Predictable, the way magic and spells and curses usually were. If the strike found skin -and it surely would, since the poor boy wouldn’t know to expect it the way Urahara and Yoruichi did- the toxin would take its course swiftly. Ichigo wouldn’t be awake to see the transformation. Between the bite and the pace of the shifting, there would be time for the warlock to intervene.

Yoruichi eyed her partner for a moment, but he knew what he was doing. He always did. So she hopped from the countertop to make a smooth, graceful landing upon the worn wooden floor, and made a stealthy beeline for the back of the shop like a dark shadow between the isles. The shopkeep finally pushed away from the counter to follow at a more relaxed, less obvious pace.

Not a minute later, the clock above the tank chimed, its warning loud and echoing enough to ghost through the entirety of the shop.

Ichigo jumped, taken off guard, and so did the large white snake in his hands. Like something possessed the creature, it turned on him. Where a previously relaxed, inquisitive animal had slithered and climbed about Ichigo’s arms and shoulders, a serpent of solid muscle and smooth scales constricted and hissed.

Jerking back, Ichigo nearly lost his footing as the snake came at him, much the way it had Urahara the night before. He managed, faster than actual thought, to slip an arm out of the winding coils and throw it in front of his face automatically. Teeth sank into the underside of his forearm; a hundred or so needle like hooks designed to grip and hold prey.

Of course Ichigo yanked away, his reaction unthinking and ingrained. The teeth scraped free and pin pricks of blood welled to the surface. The snake hit the floor. Ichigo stumbled a stunned step backward, mind still trying to catch up to what happened. A steadying hand found his back and he looked over to see the calm features of the shopkeeper, his grey eyes sparkling under his odd hat. “I-I’m sorry.” Ichigo stammered, “He bit me.”

Urahara nodded, “No harm done, Mr. Kurosaki, I should have been paying better attention.” As the warlock guided his guest a bit further from the enchanted, glass cage, he watched from the corner of his eyes as the swift shape of Yoruichi darted around a corner and streaked off in the direction their escaped friend had gone. Trusting her to be able to handle the situation for a few moments, he directed his attention back to the young man now in his care.

Brown eyes widened a little further, “Oh no, I’m so sorry-! Is he ok?” Ichigo shook off the hand on him, spinning in search of the snake he’d dropped. He stumbled a little as he did, suddenly dizzy. “He’s fast, where’d he go?”

“Not to worry,” Urahara assured, watching, “he’s a sturdy beast. Most snakes are. He’ll be fine, and Yoruichi is a master at hunting him down when he manages to escape.”

“Th-the cat…?” Ichigo made a face, blinking as he wavered.

“The cat.” A husky but feminine voice confirmed. A dark skinned woman edged passed him, a hissing, thrashing snake in her hands. Pale jaws fell open, gaping to show row upon row of jagged teeth. The snake seemed to snarl, despite that a snake couldn’t make such a sound, as its entire body jerked and twitched. The woman wrestled to keep it in hand as she hurried over to the glass prison. She turned to look over one slim shoulder, yellow eyes taking in Ichigo’s measure, before she began pushing the snake and all those twisting, thrashing coils into the enclosure. “He’s holding up remarkably well.” She admitted, “Perhaps you were right.”

With a slight nod, Urahara decided, “We’ll see how he fairs the night.”

A frown tugged at Ichigo’s brow, “What’s– ah.” He backed a step away from the odd pair, realizing now that something was very wrong. “What’s going on? What did he do to me?” In the next instant he was on the ground, staring up at the ceiling and all the intricate, swirling patterns and script carved into it. The floor was cold below him and the room around him seemed to spin as he brought a hand up to his face, pressing the heel of his palm against his temple in the effort to steady his wavering vision.

Yoruichi latched the last lock into place as hissing snarls shifted to enraged, watery growls. The snake’s body jerked, tensed, and expanded. While the lower portion simply grew, the upper half underwent a most nauseating transformation. Scales peeled back and bone protruded, cutting through the skin. Arms grew, roped in wiry but solid muscle like the rest of the snake’s body. The creature’s skull reshaped with the harsh snap and pop of bone and cartilage. The jaw fell open in an angered yell as a clawed hand slammed into the glass with a resounding bang that shook the whole structure of the cage.

Their nightly ritual of hatred and seething and threats began.

But this night was different, and the naga’s fury paused when a new voice caught his attention.

Still half sprawled across the floor a half dozen paces away, Ichigo levered himself unsteadily onto one elbow and stared in wide-eyed disbelief, hardly able to draw breath. “H-how…?”

Staring right back, unblinking golden eyes matched his gaze. Long, white hair cascaded around startlingly pale but very human features. The naga’s black claws curled against the glass in an awful screech before the creature planted his hand upon the bottom of the tank to shift his weight around for a better look. “Who,” He asked, ignoring the warlock and the shifting cat, “iss the human?”

Yellow, feline eyes costed over to meet grey. The look shared between them was one of reserved hope. But it would have to wait for another time. If there was another time.

Urahara stepped up to his guest, kneeling to help pull the boy to his feet. 

Ichigo resisted, distrusting now and understandably so, but ended up on his butt again, before making it to his feet. “….this isn’t real. What did you do to me?!” He demanded, still trying to pull away, but there was little strength in his struggles as magic-concocted venom coursed through his veins. The world spun. He was barely even aware of being turned away from the cage and the thing within as he was led toward the front of the shop.

Gold eyes tracked his exit, until he’d rounded a shelf and was no longer within view. 

The shopkeep ignored his questions and his struggling, a benign but sly smile on his features, “Now, Mr. Kurosaki, we close at sundown. I’m positive I mentioned that yesterday, but ah, well. Accidents happen.” He rambled as he pulled the front door of his shop open and guided the stumbling young man through. “Best we get you home for the night.”

The last thing Ichigo was aware of was the cool sheets of his bed and the odd echo of a tapping cane. That night, he hallucinated of long gone times and blood and sorrow. Like flashes of old memories dredged up from the bottom of the mind, he dreamed, only seeing pieces of the story; water soaked, pale hair flashed as if illuminated by lightening, the twisting and knotting of muscle. Dread stained his mind, echoing in hissing, watery words, then sorrow and denial and desperation. Blood filled his vision, thick and sticky and smelling of rot. A cage of bone and the sick grind of teeth against it. But all of it was stained with chaos, with no order or sense to make of it. 

He woke that morning, sheathed in sweat and twisted in his blankets from tossing and turning with the throes of his dreams. His mind went straight to the shop, before his feet even touched the floor as he began sitting up. His arm itched, a hundred little punctures raised and welted to color his skin.

 

He made the short trip from his home to the shop on the corner in a fog of distracting, jumbled thoughts. Had he been asked, he wouldn’t have even been able to explain if he’d walked there or taken the bus. And once there, it was as if the little bell above the door hadn’t chimed, as if he hadn’t walked through the front door at all. When he was finally able to refocus on what sat around him, all he saw was ornate gold and glass.

Ichigo stared at the snake, quiet. The dreams of the night prior left him exhausted and drawn. The cold shower he’d taken had washed away the smell of sweat, but not the feel. His skin had crawled, his hands had shook, up until now, until he’d come back to the strange little shop on the corner and saw for himself that the snake was real.

He stared at the creature through the glass for a long time, hands at his sides. They itched to unlatch the cage, but he refrained.

Within, the snake nosed at the glass, back and forth, back and forth, along the front facing side as if pacing. There was nothing to show of the hissing and snarling and teeth from the night before.

A sleek black shape stepped from the shadows under the cage and looked up at him. He didn’t really look back, but greeted with a distracted, “Yoruichi.” As if on cue, the cat’s owner– partner? made his way over with that tap-tap-tap of his cane to mark his whereabouts. Ichigo said nothing, shaking his head just slightly as he continued to watch the snake.

“Do you remember?” The shopkeep asked as he drew up beside the younger man. He too watched Shiro’s restless curiosity.

“Yes– No… I-“ He trailed off, a frown tugging at his brow, unsure. But he remembered widened golden eyes staring at him from behind the glass. “What is he really?”

Urahara nodded a bit, settling his hands upon his cane where it rested in front of him. Yoruichi rubbed against his pant leg. “During the day, he’s exactly what you see now; nothing more than a simpleminded snake. At night… He retains his old shape, but not his mind. Cursed, long ago.”

And so Ichigo listened as the shopkeeper spun him a tale that could have come straight out of an old book, like a fairytale gone without the disney twist.

••••

Once, Shiro had been a part of a race far more prevalent than they were then. Nagas had been nearly as abundant as humans, once upon a time, but over the generations, the two species, as well as the other various intelligent races, had competed for resources and clashed. Already a species that found little comfort in society, the remaining nagas had scattered, found only in deep forests and lifeless deserts, where they could remain secluded and enjoy their solitude. 

Every once in a while, though, one would happen upon the other. Encounters were scarce, but they did happen, enough so that nagas knew of humans and humans still had rumors of serpent creatures.

It had been an encounter such as this that had eventually led to Shiro’s downfall.

By chance, he had stumbled upon a human, a young man, near the edge of his roaming territory in a dense, tropical forest. Normally, if the naga was uninterested in such a large prey item at the time, it would have made a silent retreat, unseen, and let the human be none the wiser to its existence. But, a young creature himself and never one for old rules, Shiro grew curious instead.

After watching for a time, he finally came closer, until only a few paces separated him from the human, and revealed himself through the gaps and partings in the foliage. Still partially obscured in the underbrush, as the naga had intended, the young man thought he’d run into another human so far out into the forest. ‘Are you lost?’ The young man had asked, to which Shiro merely shook his head, arching pale brows slightly. ‘Then why are you so far from home?’

‘Home?’ The naga shifted, careful with his movements lest his heritage become obvious. Hidden in the undergrowth of the dense forest, his long tail coiled tight at the base of where he stood, ‘You’re farther from home than I am.’

Then the human had gotten quieter, taking in the pale figure before him. His hair was long and pale, chaotic where it hung to frame handsome, if a bit wild, features. Shirtless, he was lean of build and colorless like he’d never seen the light of day, but the warm sun peeked from between the canopy above and glinted across the gold and jewels he wore. They were old, like something out of a painting from the new world, from when people lived in tribes instead of villages, and worshipped deities and gods of many things. 

The young man dropped his hand to the sturdy hunting knife at his belt, giving what he thought was some sort of savage tribesman another once over. 

Shiro merely arched a brow, a bit of a smirk curling his lips, and said quite plainly, ‘If I’d planned to hurt you, it would’ve already happened.’

The assurance didn’t seem to help much as the young man backed a step away. ‘Who are you? Why are you here?’

There was tension between them at first, mistrust and paranoia, but there had been curiosity too. Despite that the young man didn’t realize he’d been speaking to a dangerous, inhuman creature, there was still that thrill that raced down his spine, as if some part of him realized the being he’d met wasn’t quite what it seemed. That first conversation had been brief, and he’d been able to withdraw, back to his village without issue or animosity.

Their next run in had been intentional. The naga, so intrigued and drawn to the human, sought the boy out. It was a simple task to follow the lad’s scent and he hovered near the village for a day or two until the human he sought left the town again.

‘I know you’re out there.’ He’d called as if to nothing, ‘I saw you this morn.’ 

A low, watery voice answered back, the owner still unseen somewhere amongst the trees and foliage. ‘You saw me?’ The naga asked, a playful chime to his voice. 

‘Yes,’ The villager spun a slow circle where he stood, surrounded by green, looking for a flash of pale skin to give the stranger away. ‘At the edge of the village, last night and again with the rise of the sun. You were looking for me, I think.’

‘I was doing no such thing.’ And this time, the voice was more obvious in what direction it had come from.

‘The boy pivoted to face that direction, scowling into the shadows. A twig snapped off to his right and turned that way. ‘Don’t lie to me.’

‘I don’t lie.’ 

And again, the voice came from yet another direction, but this time, when the villager spun to face it, he came face to face with pale, smirking features. He nearly tripped, he jerked backward so hard in his surprise. He caught his balance and turned a glare on the stranger, ‘Then tell me the truth. You were looking for me, weren’t you?’

The smirk widened and the creature shrugged a single, bare shoulder. ‘Fine, you’re partly right. I wasn’t lookin’ for you, I had already found you.’

There was exasperation on the human’s face, but he dispelled with the semantics, ‘You can’t be here. If I can catch sight of you, then so can others. It’s not safe for you and your people.’

The pale figure finally dropped his smirk, a frown tugging at his brow. ‘My people…?’ He half glanced toward the village, taken aback that his kind was known of by this lone human. But then it occurred to him and he smirked again, ‘I don’t have a people. There’s no tribe or village hidden in the forest.’

‘Just you?’ The human shifted and the motion brought him half a step closer, but he stopped when the figure before him leaned back, as if about to bolt. He shook his head. ‘How is that possible? How would you survive? I don’t believe you.’

‘It’s true. I don’t lie, remember? It’s just me. I do all the things you and your people do for survival, I just do them alone.’

The young man frowned, studying the stranger, and found that he believed him. There was a touch of sorrow in his expression. ‘You live all by yourself out here? It must be a lonely life.’

The naga started to speak, but paused, again taken aback and this time the feeling wasn’t fleeting. He shrugged again, resisting the urge to draw nearer. ‘It wasn’t,’ he said, ‘until I saw you.’

It wasn’t for half a dozen similar meetings that the naga finally revealed himself. It was a warm evening, the sun beginning to hang low in the sky on the horizon. The boy sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, the old bark long worn smooth from the passing of years. Not far off, his friend stood unmoving like he was carved of marble, as he always did. Finally, with a sigh, he stood from the log and crossed his arms, taking a resolute stop towards the pale tribesman that had no tribe.

As he predicted, the other shifted backward, though his feet remained planted in the underbrush, nothing below the curve of his ribs visible.

‘I feel we’ve known each other for nearly all our lives. These handful of weeks have brought us close. Yet you never let me come near.’

Shiro frowned, strange eyes edging away from the human he’d grown so fond of.

‘Why? Be honest with me.’ The boy took another step forward, more carefully, more gently. ‘What could you possibly have to fear from me?’

Shiro shrank back again, the length of his hidden tail coiling tight, slithering silently through the leaves and grasses and shrubs as one would expect of a snake. His voice was nearly a whisper. ‘The loss of your companionship.’

To his astonishment, the human laughed. At him! At a creature that could devour him.

‘You and I are connected, Shiro, you must feel it too.’ The boy shook his head and this time, his step forward didn’t earn a retreating lean. ‘I couldn’t deny you my companionship, my time. I could deny you nothing, even if I wanted it.’

‘You say that now…’ The naga whispered, but he rose. And rose. Until he stood a good three or four feet above his companion and then, with his body more comfortably uncoiled, he slithered from where he’d hidden away what he was. He kept his distance still, leaving a few paces between them, as he curled round, the human spinning in place to track him with shock on his features. ‘I’m not like you.’ The naga said, as the length of his lower portion uncoiled from where pale scales had been hidden.

‘A- a serpent, you’re-‘ The human swallowed, looking up at his friend, before his eyes trailed downward, passed shoulders, below stomach and the tops of hips. His gaze traveled the expanse of pale, glittering belly scales, each nearly as wide as his forearm was long, to the bulk of the snake’s body, then the point of the tail, before returning to Shiro’s features. But he didn’t run. He didn’t shrink back, or show terror. ‘This is- You’re… wondrous.’ He crept another stop closer, ‘Can I touch you?’

The naga nodded as his friend neared. The village boy’s hands reached up to cup his features first, to smile his happiness at this new development, at the elation he felt at finally knowing, truly knowing, the person he’d met in the forest. Then warm hands trailed down the naga’s arms, before a hand finally settled into his. Thus, a solitary creature finally understood what real companionship was.

The two were all but inseparable from that day on. Every chance he was able, the boy would sneak away from his village, creeping into the shadows of the forest. The naga was always waiting for him. Often, he would make himself comfortable folded into the coils of the creature’s reptilian tail while their torsos laid side by said. Nothing in all the world felt safer or more right. They spoke of nothing and everything. They watched the day go by and the stars creep into the sky. They splashed through streams, or climbed into the tallest trees, where they would look out upon the vast territory Shiro called home.

The days went by, the seasons turned. The region was tropical enough that the winter wasn’t overly cold, but on the days and nights where the temperature dropped too low for the naga, the young man would journey deep into the jungle to the creature’s lair and Shiro would be grateful for his company. Long nights were spent curled up, sharing each other’s warmth.

‘I wish I could bring you to my home.’ The young man would say, ‘It’s warm, warmer than this cave of cold rock and withered plants. You’d like it, I think.’

The naga smiled at the thought, ‘I think you’re right.’ Though the cave suited him just fine, and so did the company.

In the spring, what little of the winter was left thawed. With warmer days on the way, the villagers were out and about more, hunting and planting and readying for a summer that would hopefully stock them well enough to last another winter.

Sometimes Shiro would track the hunting parties, especially when his human was a part of it. Often, he’d leave signs of his presence; subtle, but something the village boy would notice and understand. Sometimes it was a white flower, plucked and sitting in the path the party walked. Sometimes it was an overturned rock, so that the moss faced downward and the cool, damp surface faced skyward. And the lad would tuck the flower away, or right the overturned rock and he’d do so with a small, private smile, eyes shifting in search of of pale scales amongst the new foliage if spring.

Sometimes the naga would disappear on hunts of his own, seeking prey worthy of a creature his size. Every once in a while, village hunting parties would come across his kills, what was left of deer and boar, the occasional young bear. When he was present on those particular hunts, the human would scuff up any slithered trails, draw furrows in the mud with his hunting knife, and claim that it must have been a bigger bear, maybe a mother with new cubs to feed.

Increasingly, as the spring progressed into the rainy season, the need to cover trails was laid to rest. Rain and storms scoured clean the earth, leaving muddy rivulets where once game trails had been. Crops flourished. The forest was alive with new growth and insects. The rivers and streams swelled, making their banks treacherous.

And then one day, the young man failed to show up. He’d told Shiro of another hunting party he was to be part of, one that would be gone for days, but he’d promised to meet the naga upon his return. But those days stretched on and the nights drew long. On his second evening of waiting, the naga made a restless lap around the village. When he’d made it back to his starting point, he decided he could wait no longer. They were connected, the boy had said so himself, and something in Shiro’s gut told him something terrible had happened. 

He’d watched his fancy come and go from the village often enough to know that his human lived on the north side of the village. From there, finding his trail was easy enough. 

When a naga burst into the village with all haste, the villagers panicked. Chaos ensued. Screams erupted, shouts of surprise and warning and threat. People scrambled from the creature’s path, while others grabbed up weapons. But Shiro had no business with them and he passed them by, seeking out his beloved. With a snake’s keen senses, he found the hut he searched for. The space smelled familiar, the boy’s scent wafting through the small home. But the hut was empty.

Shiro tore the place apart in his search, before he scrambled from the door. He tried desperately to get answers from the panicking villagers, a direction to begin searching in, a quarry, anything, but he was met with fear and weapons.

Batting aside a spear, he pushed through the crowd, leaving the village to continue his search. 

The recent rains made following tracks harder, but the young man had been hunting, and the most obvious place to look for game was a game trail. The naga had been slithering through this forest for as long has he could remember. He knew every game trail, every kind of animal that used the trails, and where they all met. And so, with all haste, he sped toward the shallow part of the river that wound deep through his territory.

There, he finally found evidence of the missing hunting party. Tracks were pressed deep into the soft mud, alongside the scuffs of shuffling, quiet steps, where people crept through the thinning underbrush toward’s the river’s edge. Upon the other bank, the tracks of boar, a splash of blood, and a broken spear shaft.

With dread in his heart, Shiro began scouring the river and the trees nearest the bank. 

The first body he found, he splashed through swift currents to get to. Gored by the boar the man had been hunting, he’d somehow found his way into the river, where he’d been carried downstream and drowned in the cool waters. Shiro hauled the corpse ashore, rolled it over, and left it where it lied when it wasn’t who he searched for.

Not far downstream, he came across the second. Covered in mud, it was difficult to identify from afar, but as he neared, the naga knew he’d found his companion. He could hardly draw air into his lungs as he made his way over to where the village boy had pulled himself halfway up the bank before his strength had given out. The touch he laid upon damp cloth was gentle, reverent, timid. And when he rolled the boy over, it was with great care. He wiped mud from slack, peaceful features and, like he held the whole world, he carefully pulled the body from the muddy bank. Boar tusks had shredded one thigh, leaving a swath of red to streak the river, and rocks and the current had bruised and broken bones. With the battered form cradled close, Shiro grieved.

Weeks later, when the village rallied together and sought out the monster in their forest, thinking him a threat for his display amidst their homes, and thinking him responsible for the missing hunters, he was not the same creature.

 

•••••

 

“His grief drove him mad.” Urahara said, his voice the most sombre and least cheery Ichigo had heard in their few meetings. His grey eyes didn’t leave the pacing snake. “We tried to help- Yoruichi and I…” He shook his head and there was so much old frustration and sorrow in the motion, “every time we thought we had it figured out, we were wrong. We tried so hard to help him move on, but he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not after what had happened, and certainly not after what he’d done.” Lost for words, Urahara stopped, a deep set wince creasing his features.

Ichigo thought back to his dream, to the grind of teeth against bone.

“He couldn’t let go. He couldn’t leave him. When Yoruichi and I found him, before the villagers got to him, he was half starved and what was left of the body was unrecognizable.” But that wasn’t all of it, and it showed in the shopkeep’s face. “The first time he snapped was the first time we truly saw what he was capable of. He’s powerful, Ichigo, so powerful. He leveled the village his beloved had come from. It was an accident, we know it was. Afterward, he’d been so distraught by it. We thought it a fluke, brushed it off as best we could and kept looking for answers. Keeping him secluded worked for a while, but he was -is- so driven in his search. He was so sure they’d find each other again.

“The second time… God, they thought he was the familiar of a witch, in the middle ages long long ago. They chanted and prayed and lit fires. We saw what was coming, saw the fracture in his mind as it began to spread. We tried to warn them off, but they set out with pitchforks and rope and priests to hunt him down in the night. They were no match for him… A whole town.”

Ichigo listened, watching the snake and its mindless nosing against the glass as if seeking an exit it would have found long ago had it existed.

“We had to do something…”

“You cursed him.”

“I cursed him.” The shopkeep nodded and suddenly he looked his age. “I was desperate. I thought, maybe if we could reduce him to something simpleminded, he would forget, he would move on. We hoped that with time, he would find himself again. But above all else, we had to keep him from spreading his grief, lest someone finally step up and find a way to end him. But he was too powerful even for me to handle. As a warlock of goodly intent, my powers are strongest during the light of day, and so in the day, you see a snake free of real thought, free of fraught worry and pain. But at night… He’s too much, too strong. The magic invested in his species is too great even for me. He turns back into himself, but his mind is still gone, still consumed by hatred and guilt.”

A silence settled, heavy like fog that stretched through the entire store. It wasn’t for several long minutes that Ichigo finally crossed the few steps between him and the cage. “I’ll take him.”

Grey eyes widened. 

Yoruichi jumped upon the cage without a sound and sat there, her cold eyes boring into him the way only a cat’s could. 

“It’s ok.” He assured them, nodding like he was convincing himself as well. “I’m not afraid of him.”

 

••••

The warlock and his familiar helped Ichigo get the cage into his home. They set it up in a corner, but Ichigo hoped this day would be Shiro’s last confined to it. In truth, the warlock couldn’t tell him if this would work, of if it did, that Shiro wouldn’t revert back into a simpleminded animal during the day.

“Ichigo.” Yoruichi paused in the doorway to his house, looking him over again. “We’ll be nearby.”

Ichigo nodded.

“But if this doesn’t work… We wont be able to stop him in time.”

There was slight hesitation to his actions, as he began closing the door, but he nodded again. “I understand.” 

And then he was alone and rested his back against the closed door with a deep, shaky sigh, and looked across the room at the gold and glass enclosure, where a long, white snake curiously stared back at him, blue tongue flickering.

In an hour’s time, the sun would be below the horizon. In an hour’s time, he would free an angry, wronged, heartbroken creature.

Lowering himself to sit on the floor in front of the door, Ichigo waited.

Poisoned as he’d been the first time he’d seen it, he couldn’t remember how the transformation had happened or what it looked like, but he was astonished by the speed of it. The nauseating crack and creak of cartilage and bone alerted him to it. Then the snake stretched out, writhing as it began to reshape.

Stunned by the sight, he was caught off guard when the naga’s nightly outburst began; no preamble, no warning. Fury lit the room like it could replace the sun.

The naga thrashed in his prison, pushing against the sides, his black claws screeching across glass he couldn’t break, pit or even gouge. He growled and hissed and made demands that rang through the house. “Where am I? Release me!”

Ichigo jerked upright, staggering to his feet, “Wait, please-“

“I’ll kill every one of you.” The naga hissed, the coils of his body worked through the small space. “Carve the meat from your bones and feast like the king I once was!”

“Please-“ Ichigo tried again, lowering himself to his knees beside the ornate enclosure and its stand, so that he’d be eye to eye with the creature within. “Please, just look at me.”

Strange, inhuman eyes flickered over to him, all the frantic movement and desperate attempts to break free ceasing. Silence settled heavily in the room. 

The naga cocked his head, pale brows furrowing, attention locked on the human kneeling before him. “Who… You were at- Where…?” Shiro’s eyes flitted around the space, but ultimately, his attention was draw back to the human. Baring white teeth and fangs, the naga seemed to inflate, grow bigger as he started to succumb to his anger again, “Where’s the warlock!?”

Ichigo shook his head. There was sadness in his expression. “He’s not here. He’s not your keeper anymore.”

“Then free me!” The naga shrieked, fist banging on the glass hard enough to rattle the entire structure.

Ichigo nodded, and climbed to his feet. “I will.”

Again, the naga paused, some of his rage draining to show confusion hidden underneath. “You’re the human from before…” He twisted around as the young man stood, so that he could look up at him, his hands come to rest flat against the glass ceiling of his cage, something like recognition flashing through his expression. “You look…” He paused again, tilted his head. “Familiar.”

A tentative smile creased Ichigo’s features. The shopkeep hadn’t said as much, but he could guess. “We’re connected, I think.” He said, nodding slightly. “I didn’t understand at first, but I keep being drawn to you.”

“Release me.” The words were firm, but not the seething demand they were before.

Ichigo nodded, and unlatched the tank.

The glass lid shattered as it was flung from its hinges. The naga was out so fast Ichigo barely had time to see it happen. Before he knew what was happening, there was a hand fisted in his shirt and his back hit the wall across the room. Teeth were bared in his face, a vicious snarl ringing in his ears. The fist tightened in his shirt cut nails across his chest below. There was so much strength behind that hold, so much rage, so much animal fury. Serpentine gold eyes were wide though, crazed but studying, and after a moment of heavy, ragged breathing, the naga seemed to lessen. Something retreated in that cold gaze, something softened. Then the rage and fury broke and pale brows furrowed, “You’re afraid of me…” He all but whispered in a slithering, echoing voice.

Ichigo swallowed, shook his head, and met that searching look, “I’m not afraid.”

It was as if the rest of the glass and gold of his prison shattered, as if chains broke free. The barest hint of a smirk tugged at pale lips, “I’ve finally found you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Your thoughts and comments are welcome.


End file.
